


We Two, How Long We Were Fool'd

by forthegenuine



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Post-Mockingjay, Pre-Epilogue, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-24 00:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthegenuine/pseuds/forthegenuine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They circle around each other, until they realize they've already found freedom and joy. A discovery of home in two parts. Post-Mockingjay, pre-epilogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vernal Equinox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notion of cyclical patterns and motifs in literature really tickles me. This story is inspired by that idea, and the fact that when Katniss broke the vase at the end of Mockingjay, no one bothered to clean it up…
> 
> Now, I know the "growing back together" story has been written many times before. But I think of this more as a love letter to all the fanfic authors and readers I've met, followed, and befriended over the past couple of months. I love this fandom, and even more so, the wonderful people who populate it. Special thanks to Angylinni for being a fabulous one-woman focus group on this, and for luring me out of lurkdom.

We have circled and circled till we have arrived home again, we two.  
We have voided all but freedom and all but our own joy.

––Walt Whitman

 

**Vernal Equinox**

 

>>\------------->

 

The first time Greasy Sae doesn't come in the morning, Katniss is forced out of bed by soft yet determined knocking. She opens the front door, half-wearing and half-dragging her blanket around her like a ridiculously oversized cloak, and finds Peeta standing in front of her, alone. He holds out a covered wicker basket in one hand, while the other hand is balled up in one of his pockets. "Morning," he greets timidly, almost apologetically, as if he were afraid she might turn him away because Greasy Sae isn't with him.

Katniss steps aside, finally wide-awake and suddenly aware of how absurd she must look, as Peeta enters and heads straight for the kitchen. She runs upstairs quickly to shed her blanket and splash water on her face, before joining Peeta at the table. Without Sae's absent prattling, they eat breakfast in relative silence. Peeta attempts to make conversation by commenting on the pleasant spring they're having. Katniss mourns the fact that they've resorted to small talk, pushing her food around her plate. She agrees with him anyway, although she has not left her house in the last two days. There've been bad days.

While the exchange isn't dreadfully awkward, it doesn't feel natural to Katniss either, and she is relieved when Peeta finishes his breakfast first. She watches as he rises, feeds Buttercup his scraps (a habit he picked up from her, so now the damn cat prefers him over her), then washes his plate. For a moment, he pauses by the sink, and looks like he is on the verge of saying something to her. He always purses his lips then sucks in a deep breath before he says something longwinded. Instead, his lips form a smile and he thanks her for breakfast––even though he brought the loaf of bread and meager dollop of butter they just shared––then takes his leave. Katniss is left, feeling as though the boy who just left is a stranger in Peeta's scarred skin… but then, she thinks, maybe she is the one wearing borrowed skin.

She dumps her unfinished plate in the sink and stalks off to find Sae, and demand a return to a routine she didn't realize she relied on in just this short amount of time. It doesn't take her long to find Greasy Sae, who has sequestered herself to her old spot about where the Hob used to be, a makeshift stall no doubt built by Thom for her and her granddaughter. Greasy Sae looks different without a boiling pot of wild dog in front of her, but she keeps herself occupied with knitting while she watches the young girl play at her feet.

"You weren't there this morning," Katniss blurts without greeting, only slightly caring afterwards––but not enough to want to take it back—if she sounded accusatory.

"I know I wasn't. I figure from here on out, th' two of you can take care of yourselves," Sae explains, without looking up from her task. "And each other," she adds pointedly.

Katniss is not quite sure of what to make of her refusal. At the very least, she expected to earn Sae's pity for the state she's in. But she can't say that out loud, so stands there a bit longer, wordlessly obstinate, watching as Sae's granddaughter plays with the ball of yarn Katniss vaguely recognizes as the one she gave away. "Besides," continues Greasy Sae, interrupting her daze, "I can only do so much––making sure you're fed, bathed, getting some sunlight now and then. It's you that's got to find a reason for wanting to be here."

Katniss frowns at the older woman, confused and unsatisfied. When Sae makes no attempt to continue, Katniss turns on her heels and stalks back to her house in Victor's Village. She resigns to declare this trip out-of-doors a failure. And, feeling petty, she certainly doesn't feel like venturing a trip to the woods today to fetch Sae any game. She spends the rest of the day under the covers of her bed, hovering between sulking and dozing, until she is awakened by the pangs of hunger around dinnertime.

As if by force of thought, she hears the clatter of kitchen sounds and guesses that Greasy Sae has changed her mind about coming back after all. In her haste to savor both her triumph over Sae's will and her cooking, she neglects to put on socks and shoes.

When she reaches the threshold of the kitchen, she is taken aback when she sees Peeta there instead. She is not so much surprised by his presence as she is perplexed, and admittedly a little envious, of his comfort at presiding over her space as if it were his own. The afternoon sun, its warm rays streaming in from the window at his back, lights the kitchen with a gentle glow. Katniss is briefly awed at the sight of this golden Peeta, and thinks she must really be hungry. "Hi."

Peeta looks up from his preparations, knife in hand, mid-slice. He sets the utensil down, and wipes his hands on the apron tied around his waist. "Hey," he smiles bashfully and explains, "Sae gave me her key, so I let myself in. Are you hungry?"

Katniss is astonished a second time, this time, by Peeta's kindness. He's always been kind, this boy, but even after his hijacking, he finds a way to return to himself. First with the primroses he planted, then the offerings of bread for breakfast. Now this. But what has she given him?

She swallows her guilt as she does her saliva, to try to stave off the gnawing hunger. She nods in affirmative to his question, even as she feels she has no right to accept any more of his unfailing generosity. And as only Peeta could, he grins at her boyishly, nods slightly, and returns to chopping vegetables.

Katniss slinks barefoot along the kitchen wall, trying to be unimposing, even though it is her house. She glances at Peeta as he works, admiring that familiar look of concentration sitting on his brow. She is so distracted, she doesn't notice that she steps on the rug near the fireplace. A quick splinter of pain suddenly pierces her foot and shoots up her leg. She cries out, dropping to the ground to clutch at her injury.

Peeta looks up and flies immediately to her side. "Katniss! Are you all right?" He crouches down next to her on the kitchen floor.

When they inspect the wound, they discover an angry piece of glass that was camouflaged among the mottled pattern of the rug, is now lodged a few centimeters deep in the arch of Katniss's foot. Drops of crimson pearl where glass meets flesh. Managing to control her sobs, Katniss conjectures that she must have missed this one piece, when she carelessly cleaned the broken pieces of the vase she had shattered.

"I should go get Haymitch," Peeta suggests, a look of concern replaces the earlier concentration on his face.

She shakes her head. "No. He's probably––" she is inclined to say that he is likely drunk out of his mind right now, since she hasn't seen him for a few days, but opts instead for, "busy."

Peeta doesn't argue. "Okay, then, up you go." He takes her arm and places it over his strong shoulders, circling his around her back to support her at her waist. With his other arm, he scoops the backs of her knees, lifting her effortlessly, and carries her to the table then carefully lowers her to a chair. She barely has time to register that this is the first time he's touched her since, well, since she bit him. She forgets this as soon as he sits across from her, resting her heel on his knee as he assesses the wound.

Katniss is glad for Peeta's calm because she can no longer control the way her body is shaking. While the pain is not unbearable, she cannot suffer the stabbing sensation and the discomfort of having an object embedded in her foot for very long. "Could… could you help me get it out?" She forces herself to squeak out. She doesn't want to owe him any more, but she figures she'll just add this to the ever-growing list of things she needs to pay back.

"Yeah," he begins gravely, "but I don't know if I'm the best person to ask." He looks at her with the smallest hint of a curve at the corner of his mouth, eyebrows disappearing easily into the mass of too-long blond curls that have grown into his forehead. "I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to injuries sustained below the waist."

His attempt to distract her is so plainly obvious, and despite knowing exactly what he's doing, she feels the sides of her lips tug upward anyway. His hand crosses between them and reassuringly wipes away tears that have fallen on her cheek with his thumb. Katniss can't help but wonder if she imagined that when his fingers brushed her face, they lingered longer than necessary.

Peeta clears his throat, "Bandages and stuff, upstairs bathroom?" Katniss nods her head. "I'll be right back." When he returns with the first aid supplies and a towel a few moments later, he replaces her foot on his knee, gingerly cradling it. He mops off the blood that has seeped around the glass and the gash. She winces at the pricking sensation, and recoils reflexively. Peeta gives her an apologetic look, uttering a "Sorry," and proceeds with even more care.

"Ready?" He looks at her expectantly.

She nods her consent. Katniss squeezes her eyes shut and steels herself for the pain. "Here we go," says Peeta. "One, two, three––" a swift jerk, a sharp sting, followed by pressure on her foot. When she opens her eyes, releasing a breath she doesn't remember holding, she sees Peeta triumphantly grasping the shard between his fingers, his other hand keeping a towel pressed to her foot.

"You okay?" Peeta inquires, looking a little relieved himself.

Katniss smiles tearfully and nods. "Thanks."

Holding her gaze, he accepts warmly, "You're welcome." He sets to work dressing the wound while Katniss keeps her eyes on him, mostly because she is still squeamish about human infirmary, even if it is hers. With each passing moment, though, as Peeta cleans and applies ointment to the wound, she can feel her grip on her seat begin to loosen. She becomes aware of her pulse, throbbing everywhere he touches her flesh, and she doubts it is entirely because of her wound.

Peeta suddenly lifts her foot to his face, and for a brief and absurd––but not unwanted––moment she thinks he might kiss it, the way mothers kiss their children's injury. He blows on it instead, attempting, she sees, to dry the ointment. Katniss closes her eyes momentarily, relaxed by the cool feeling of his breath on her skin. Peeta replaces her foot on his knee again, and begins to unwind a strip of gauze from the roll. "I watched your mother do this for your other foot."

A simultaneous feeling of gratitude and guilt urge her to declare, "You missed your calling as a healer." He responds with a small chuckle and continues to work, looping layer after layer of gauze around her ankle, covering her foot's arch thickly. "I don't…" As much as she knows herself to be inarticulate, she realizes now that she is just as bad at saying the wrong words sometimes. "I don't know where to begin paying you back… for everything."

Peeta's hands stop moving and rest on her ankle, a barrier of gauze separating contact between their skin. He looks up and gazes into her eyes, furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head minutely in confusion. "It was never about paying me back, Katniss." And the words tumble from his mouth, dissipating too quickly into the air. "You know I did everything because I––"

His unformed words shoot into her chest and the infinitesimal abstraction of hope, that she'd thought she'd given up on just this morning, balloons into something real. It's her turn now to look at him, her eyes wide and turning misty for lack of blinking. Her breath slows while her heartbeat accelerates, as she succumbs to the impulse that she had been ignoring all afternoon––all week––if she admits it to herself. What she knows, though, is that the pain in her foot is now replaced by an ache to touch him. Her hand instinctively closes the space between them, sweeping an errant lock of blond hair from his eyes, the side of a finger skimming over the impossibly long eyelashes she'd long admired. A frivolous part of her is giddy at the accomplishment, and a conflicted part of her simply wants to touch more of him. But as with all triumphs lately, this too only lasts briefly, before doubt creeps in and she slowly realizes what she's done. Her body stiffens, her hand freezes.

Before she can withdraw her hand from such a bold gesture, he covers it with his own, pressing her entire palm flat against his face. She is aware of the prickle of stubble growing along his jawline, a contrast to the youthful softness of his cheek. Her thumb, so close to grazing the side of his mouth, can feel the breath escaping from his lips. Her heart races once again, and there are palpable intermittent somersaults under her ribcage.

When he leans into her touch, his eyes half-closed. It is all she can do to keep her own eyes from closing too, but she forces herself to keep them open, for fear that if she even blinks, this will all disappear. Her heart both yearns for more and is content with the warmth of his cheek under her palm, and the soothing caress of his thumb going back and forth on the back of her hand. Her mouth falls open involuntarily, letting out a soft breath that sounds like something between laughter and a sigh. She watches his body relax, limbs loosen, and breaths drawn deep. A drowsy haze seems to wrap itself around them, and for the first time since they've both returned, she doesn't feel the restless desire to be elsewhere. Katniss studies him for several moments, mesmerized by this image of Peeta in peace.

Gradually, she notices him inhaling a little deeper, taking in each breath a little quicker. His nostrils begin to flare noticeably, his breaths becoming more and more ragged. His eyes suddenly open to reveal that they are dilated, wiping out the blue in his irises. Without warning, he forcefully wretches her hand from his face at the same time he shoves her injured foot off its resting place on his thigh. The pain radiating from her foot in instantaneous, but she ignores it, looking at Peeta in shock and worry. He stands up brusquely, moving behind the chair he just rose from. His face is transformed, and he looks at her with angry black discs. He grits his teeth and spits out venom, "Don't touch me, you mutt!" Katniss can see his knuckles turning white, as he seizes the back of his chair. It rattles under his grasp, and for a moment, she thinks it might cleave in two under his strength.

Tears sting her eyes now, but only partly from the impact of her foot hitting the floor. "Peeta," she implores, half in attempt to coax him back to her. She fleetingly wonders how far she can run on her injured foot.

But before she can formulate an escape route, he squeezes his eyes shut, and takes several deep breaths, slower between each one this time, and more controlled. Eventually, his grip on the chair detaches, the fleshy color returns to his hands, as he releases one long breath. She doesn't ask what vision haunted him, but she has an inclination as to what triggered it and something gnaws at her, knowing it has to do with her.

Still trembling, Peeta opens his eyes, and wipes a few tears that have escaped. He sniffs loudly, wiping his nose as well, as he looks at her sadly with a mixture of apology and embarrassment. His eye flits quickly to her foot, but he seems to prevent himself from attending to it. A line creases his brows and his lips purse tightly together before he speaks. His face carries a pained look, one with an unmistakable tinge of longing. "No matter how much they made me hate you," he pronounces "… they couldn't make me stop loving you." He turns away from her, but not before she sees his face contort in an attempt not to cry.

A breath catches in her lungs and an admission lodges itself in her throat as she watches him leave. But she remains still, not daring to move a muscle. She waits until she can no longer hear his footsteps in the house to let herself crumple into a sobbing heap, from a pain she feels deeper than the one from her foot.

 

>>\------------->

 

She finds him in the master bedroom of his own house sitting on the bed, inert, a few hours later. She can see him, or at least his back, facing the open window, illuminated by the light of a bright spring evening because although the sun had already set, night has yet to settle in.

As Katniss hobbles further into the room, a small wicker basket in hand, she hears him muttering to himself. She makes out a frustrated tone, and the word idiot. A part of her is afraid he is reliving more flashbacks, but she braves another attack. The other part of her is certain––although she isn't quite sure how––that he won't really do anything to hurt her. She deliberately makes her already clumsy footfalls noticeable and calls his name in a loud whisper, so as not to startle him. "Peeta?"

For a moment, Katniss thinks he doesn't hear her because he doesn't respond, not even to turn around. She waits another several moments until she feels her confidence fade slightly. Her instinct of flight about to kick in, Peeta suddenly speaks up. He keeps his back to her, but addresses her, his voice wistful and heavy with confession. "I was such an idiot to think that… I can make this place home again. That things can go back to way they were, after everything that's happened." He falters slightly. "And today, I almost––" the thought of what might have happened extinguishes his sentence. "I'm such an idiot," he concludes instead, deflated.

"No, I was the idiot. I just sat there not saying anything, and let you think I agreed with you." She offers a small smile, even though she knows he can't see it. "You won't hurt me, Peeta," she says softly, but resolutely. Katniss finds the edge of the bed and sits next to him, placing the object in her hand behind her. She doesn't bring herself to look at him just yet, instead waiting patiently for him to speak again.

They sit in silence for a few more moments, until a sigh cuts through. "Just let me go, Katniss," he pleads with her tiredly.

She finally turns to him, just in time to see a tear roll down his cheek. Without hesitation, she catches it with her thumb. "I can't."

Though reason might tell her it is foolish to try so soon after his episode, Katniss feels her heart beat that familiar rhythm whenever Peeta is involved. She doesn't move her hand away from his face, instead, she guides it so that he is facing her. Peeta now looks at her, searching her eyes. Slowly, he lifts his hand until it covers hers. He dips his head, drowning his face in her tiny hand. Although she can no longer completely see his face, she feels him smile against her palm, and she smiles, too. Peeta turns his head unexpectedly, catching her hand with his lips, deepening her smile.

Their hands fall to the bed, his hand overlapping hers, and fingers reflexively intertwined.

As she studies his face, even in the relative darkness, she can see the look of sadness has not been completely driven away. "If you don't trust yourself..." his head snaps up, as if she had guessed his secret heart. "Trust me." She continues, "We protect each other, remember?"

"Even if it's from ourselves?"

"Yes," she vows simply. She remembers something he said earlier, and pours out a measure of hope he has lent her. "Maybe things won't go back to the way they used to be… but maybe other things can be better."

Peeta's eyes remain fixed on her, and he leans toward her at this. It is his turn to touch her face now, bringing it closer to his, until their foreheads are touching. He looks down, almost bowing, at their joined hands. He doesn't say anything, and seems entranced by the sight and a memory. He pulls back slightly, and immediately, Katniss misses contact with him. "I asked you once… not to let go of me, didn't I? Real or not real?"

She too recalls the memory of the two of them engulfed by flames. "Real," she assures him. "And I haven't."

A relieved smile spreads over his face, as he leans in again. He cups her cheek gently, his gaze sweeping across her face. "How's your foot?"

"Better," she breathes.

She closes her eyes in anticipation of what will happen next, her lips parting slightly. Suddenly, and embarrassingly, her stomach produces an unearthly growl, seeming to conspire against the moment. They each draw back, and not without an air of disappointment, they laugh. Katniss hides her face in his shoulder. His hand finds the back of her head, smoothing her hair from her crown to the nape. His lips brush her forehead, and an endeared chuckle escapes. "I guess I should get dinner started then?"

"Actually…" she sits up and twists her body. She proudly presents him with a basket brimming with diced vegetables, nearly forgotten, were it not for her insistent hunger. "I wasn't sure what recipe you had in mind, but I cut up all the vegetables."

Peeta beams at her and takes the basket from her hands. He stands, allowing his body to stretch briefly, then turns to offer his other hand to her. He helps her rise, and they climb down the stairs together, their joined hands never parting.

 

>>>\-------------->

 

**end part 1.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is forthcoming. Thank you for reading! I'd really appreciate your feedback on this :)
> 
> Thanks also to Sponsormusings for the little push.


	2. Autmnal Equinox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two worked on the memory book the rest of the night in silence––the letter in her pocket weighing heavily between them, a reminder that not all ghosts belonged to the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done and done. And clocked in at two years plus change. A tiny thank you to the lovely salanderjade, who provided some coaching for a pivotal scene in this chapter, a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Un-beta'd.

**Autumnal Equinox**

 

>>\------------->

 

Showers have become guilty pleasures for Katniss. Since the origin of the phrase, she decides, it has not found a suitable example until now. Though it has been over six months since her return to the district, every time she steps onto the linoleum tiles and twists the knob to turn on the shower, she feels like she is betraying the memories of those they lost.

She knows that if she admitted as much to Peeta, he would tell her her guilt is for naught. 

As with many things she disagrees with him about, she feels the weight of contrition trickle onto her skin as the showerhead sprays water over her body. Before her life as a tribute, she had never been treated to the luxury so routinely and so freely, and now it seems such an exorbitant price to pay for so frivolous an indulgence. But just as fleetingly, the liquid dribbles down and washes away the day's dirt and troubles, sloughing off a layer of skin to reveal a new version of herself. 

She sighs, and acquiesces to Peeta’s voice inside her head. Besides, she does her best thinking while she is in the shower. Or it at least provides a pleasant distraction. For instance, earlier tonight, she decided to jump in the shower to keep her mind off wondering why Peeta wasn't home yet, late as it was. Peeta had been occupied in the past several weeks, helping rebuild the district. He had even decided to resurrect his family’s bakery with the help of others who’ve returned to 12.

Katniss is in the midst of lathering shampoo into her hair when she catches herself, and wonders when it was that she began to call this house a home.

 

>>\------------->

 

_It happened around midsummer._

_When shipments arrived for Katniss and Peeta, it would not be unusual for them to receive bottles of liquor to pass on to Haymitch. But this time, amongst the painting supplies and blank parchment Peeta unpacked, an envelope bearing Hazelle Hawthorne's name slipped to the floor. With an unreadable expression on his face, Peeta handed the letter to Katniss, as she tried to keep her own eyes from widening when she recognized Gale's slanting, uneven scrawl. She quickly pocketed the letter, meaning to deliver it to Hazelle, who had just returned from 13, first thing tomorrow._

_The two worked on the memory book the rest of the night in silence––the letter in her pocket weighing heavily between them, a reminder that not all ghosts belonged to the dead._

_As the evening grew later, and they each yawned twice, Peeta announced that he would head home, and began collecting his things. Katniss sat at the foot of the sofa and watched him pack each paintbrush in its container. His hands were purposed, his eyes focused, and his jaw was set in a straight line. Though Katniss had a terrible knack for reading people, it didn’t take a whole lot of deduction to figure out what was bothering him._

_"Gale was wrong, you know.” This caused him to look up, his eyes darker in the darkling room. “About me choosing between the two of you, whoever I can't survive without.”_

_He cast her a strange look. “I overheard you two talking that night… at Tigris’s…” she confessed._

_His expression seemed to soften at her apologetic tone._

_"I can survive just fine, Peeta. I've been doing it for years, for as long as I can remember. But I––we can’t get better if we stay like this.” She gestured to the spot she was rooted to with her arm, but she hoped she was able to intimate something more. It occurred to her that she has been going through the motions of life but not really living. They both have. She now knew there was no healing in stasis. “I want to live."_

_After several moments standing still, Peeta noiselessly dropped the objects in his hands. He kept his gaze on the remaining paints on the ground. He made no other movement, letting his arms dangle uselessly at his sides. And yet he did not make a move to leave._

_“Peeta?"_

_He raised his head. He replied with the tiniest hint of hope in his voice. ”Yeah?”_

_"Will you stay?"_

_“Yeah." She thought she could hear his heart add in a whisper,_ Always.

_And he so did._

 

>>\------------->

 

Katniss steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around her body, tucking in the end at her front, in the valley between her breasts. She anxiously breathes in the steam from her shower, while drying her hair with a second towel. 

She listens for sounds of life in the house, but hears nothing. She tries not to let her concern turn into worry.

When her feet land on the bathmat, she catches part of her reflection in the mirror over the sink and wipes it with her palm. She futilely erases the condensation that had gathered, only to be fogged over again. In the small area that she can see of herself, she notices many changes since she first returned to 12. Her ribs no longer protrude from her sides, hair has grown over thinned patches, and her skin has healed into shiny scars. But much like her obscured reflection, she feels the greatest change in her are the invisible ones. She feels more at ease––a feeling she might even venture to call peace––in her skin as well as her house, especially since Peeta has moved in.

It is then that her ears detect the sound of the front door closing and into the house, followed by footsteps dashing up the stairs. She gives her hair one last wring with her towel before depositing it on the rack. She opens the bathroom door, and moves into the bedroom, just as Peeta appears––slightly out of breath––at the open bedroom door. She does not ignore the tiny lurch in her chest as she finally sets eyes on him.

“Hi,” she greets, slightly out of breath herself, as if she were the one who just raced up the steps.

“Katniss. I’m sorry I’m late,” he says contritely, walking towards her, not bothering to turn on the lights. He continues to explain, “Some of the guys in town wanted to––“

“It’s okay,” she interrupts, a smile playing on her lips, as she glances up at him. “You’re home now.” She reaches up to brush some of his hair, that had perhaps been ruffled on his way here, down. Her hand slides to the back of his head as she stretches on tiptoes to lightly press her lips against his. Then, without warning, she wraps both arms around his shoulders and pulls him in for a deeper kiss.

When she pulls back, Peeta returns her with a grin, happy to be apparently forgiven for a transgression he did not commit. He also returns her with a kiss of his own, his hands reaching for her terry-clothed waist. He looks down at her curiously––partly reeling from the shock of Katniss’s sudden display of affection, though she won’t hear him complain––studying her face in the dim light streaming into the bedroom from the bathroom light she left on. Finally, as if suddenly just remembering, he gives her the greeting he didn’t when he first entered the room, “Hi.”

She answers, amused and (always) amazed at his playfulness, “Hi.”

Neither of them speak a word for several moments, and instead, they hold each other in the dark. Peeta can feel her fingers grazing the back of his neck, absently playing with the hair above his nape. Katniss moves to bring a hand to rest on his chest. She can feel his heart beating reassuringly under her palm. All of the sudden and gradually, a familiar desire comes over her. It is a feeling she has taught herself to squelch for the past few months––actually, for as long as she has felt close to Peeta––waiting for an illusive sign for that even more elusive perfect moment. But feeling her heart beat inside her own chest, quickening without her consent, and yet she ventures onward.

Her eyes travel up Peeta’s face, over his chin, his mouth, until she finds the courage to lock eyes with him. She opens her mouth to say something––to appeal, to request, to seek––but, as usual, she is at a loss for words. She almost lets out a laugh at how silly she feels. She worries her bottom lip, searching for the right word before she speaks it. And when she does, she says it shyly, almost at a whisper, “Now.”

Peeta tilts his head slightly in confusion. The contented smile on his face is replaced by widened eyes and eyebrows that almost disappear into his recently trimmed hairline, as Peeta slowly and finally arrives at her meaning. Katniss is silently thankful for his astuteness. “Are you sure?” he inquires.

She nods her confirmation and a smile graces her face. It is his turn to launch himself at her this time, fully encircling his arms around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground. She wraps her arms around his neck and shoulders, as they bring their faces together for a kiss. Almost immediately, their mouths open and their teeth clash, as the kiss becomes more and more heated. They do not bother to pace themselves, even as both of them know where this will lead.

She walks them forward, until the backs of his knees hit the bed. She stops kissing him for a moment, partly to catch her breath. She pushes him gently to sit at the edge of the bed. She holds his gaze as his eyes follow her as she kneels between his legs. Without looking, she unties the double-knots of his boots and removes them. She undoes his belt and trousers. He wordlessly lifts his hips to allow her to slip his pants off him. She sees him swallow, as she rests her hands on his thighs.

She knows he thinks they are about to repeat one of their more intimate encounters. Katniss feels a bit guilty now, but she knows it must be this way. Peeta grabs her head unexpectedly and leans forward to capture her lips in an intense kiss, but she withdraws before he can deepen it. She plants a chaste kiss on his lips in apology.

Her hands moves from his thighs to his right leg, where she unfastens Peeta’s prosthetic with delicate fingers. She’s seen him do it dozens of times, she can almost do it simply by touch. One hand returns to caress his thigh to soothe him, for she sees the panic begin to rise in his eyes. She stops what she is doing and reaches up to cradle his face in her hands. Her thumbs brush his cheekbones gently, wordlessly asking for permission. After a few moments, he nods his assent. When she places the artificial leg on the ground at the foot of the bed, she draws him in for a reassuring kiss.

It is her turn to bare herself now. She guides his hands to the towel that has stayed knotted at her chest. She nods her assent. When the towel pools on the ground, he takes her in hungrily. Though he is familiar with the feel of her skin underneath the covers of clandestine nights, he’s never seen her fully bare before.

Resisting the urge to cover herself, Katniss reminds herself of who she’s with and steps into Peeta’s waiting embrace. Katniss leans toward him, and together, they move their bodies onto the bed––lips, hands, and skin meeting in the process.

Their souls have been connected for so long now, it seems fitting that their bodies be joined as well. Since his return to District 12 and to himself, they slowly built up intimate moments––heated kisses in the dark, experimental touches under the covers––to find themselves here. But there was an unspoken agreement between them that they would not come together in weakness, seeking diversion or mask from pain. Instead, they are here to strengthen the bond they already shared, and stoke it with heat that can only come from a girl on fire and her baker. 

He used to touch her as if he was afraid she would break, but now, he touches her with a frantic hunger as if he would break if he didn't. In the times he'd shared her bed, he'd long suspected that she keeps an internal temperature higher than most people's. Each kiss he now plants on her skin radiates with heat, sets his lips aflame, and he finally comes to grasp the aptness of her former title. 

He settles her onto her back, while he takes a place above her, between her bent knees, her feet planted onto the mattress. He carefully balances himself without his prosthetic to keep him steady. He braces himself, placing a hand on her hip, while she helps steady him with a hand on his arm.

Once he thinks he's found his bearings, he loses them again at the sight of her thighs spread beneath him, eager to receive. He teases her entrance with the tip of his hardness, which elicits a whimper from her. It takes every cell of his being not to drive himself deep into her at that moment, but he thinks momentarily and wickedly that that can wait. Their movements are still awkward, as he fails to enter her twice. Even when she guides him toward her center, slick as she is already, the angle is still not quite right. They laugh softly, nervous but easily, at their attempt to navigate this strange yet exciting new facet of their togetherness. 

When he finally slips insider her, he feels her like a furnace, a hearth, that strangely reminds him of the familiar comfort of a roaring oven. As with everything they do, they do together: she meets his grinding pelvis by arching her back, ignited by the rhythm he is creating. When she reaches between their connected bodies, it is nearly enough to drive him to the edge. He drops his head down to her shoulder as she brings her other hand to cradle the back of his head, alternating between gripping and toying with his hair. He exhales her name, chanting it over and over next to her ear; his breath, hot and maddening, is punctuated by his quickening thrusts. 

She thinks she is wrong before, about her solely living and breathing for this boy, because every fiber of her being is now being undone by him. As if beckoned by his voice, she comes, crying out his name––the last syllable of which is lost between something resembling a moan and a sigh. Moved by her ecstasy, he follows her, calling out in one final burst. Still reeling from her own release, she clenches her muscles to urge the last drop from him. They unfurl the remainder of their pleasure together, listening to the sound of their hearts beat in time with the cicadas that have returned to the district. 

While still inside her, he lifts his head from her shoulder to look at her, supporting his weight on his arms so that he hovers above her. With her hair splayed around her head like a dark halo and her skin glistening, he thinks she couldn't look more lovely. She reaches out her hand to brush the thin layer of perspiration from his brow. He smiles and kisses her lips lightly in gratitude. 

They disentangle so that he can lie next to her, on his side, his arm bent at the elbow tucked under his head. She shifts to her side, facing him as well. Peeta reaches over to cover both their bodies with the thin sheet. He lets his hand linger on her skin, caressing her shoulder lightly.  

Peeta breaks the silence with a soft murmur, his fingertips traveling, reverent at every inch, to touch her cheek, “You love me.” Though he still asks the question anyway––it’s become something of a security blanket for them both––they both sense the wonder in his voice at his declaration. ”Real or not real?"

On impulse, she stills his hand with one of hers, and presses a kiss against his palm. It is the same gesture her father bestowed on her mother, and once many lifetimes ago, by this same boy in a dark cave on her. This room is engulfed in a rather different darkness, pierced by waxing moonbeams that seep through the open window. She gazes deep into his eyes, impossibly blue in the wan moonlight, and the love she sees reflected in them tugs at her heartstrings. She thinks he couldn't look more lovely and with a drowsy smile, she answers unequivocally, "Real," before giving in to the heaviness of sleep, the gentle weight of his hand never leaving her cheek.

 

Long ago, on the roof of a distant memory, he roused her from a light doze to witness a sunset they both thought would be one of their last. He does the same a few hours later, when the sky turns a particular shade of orange, to welcome their first sunrise, together.

 

>>\------------->

**end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! My THG characterization is a little rusty. How'd I do? Thanks so much for reading. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Cheers!


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